


Perception: Color

by farad



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2169921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Ezra after "Wagon Train". For the Summer Gift Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception: Color

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/gifts).



> For a few Daybook prompts: Chris/Ezra, any, when [one] puts his hand on [the other's] hip, [the other] loses it 
> 
> Chris/Ezra, OW, getting all tangled up 
> 
> and Dichotomystudio's image: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1790695 .
> 
> Also - Happy BIrthday Jojo!
> 
> Notes: Set after "Wagon Train". Special thanks to my awesome betas (in this case, Dail!) and to Dichotomystudio's for the use of the wonderful illustration of Chris. All mistakes my own. A thesaurus was indeed sacrificed for this work, for which I do apologize, but - well, colors!

It wasn't early when he'd made up his mind. In fact, it was closer to sunrise. Ezra had spent two nights in the saloon, gambling away too much the first night, so happy to be free of that damned wagon train, that he'd let himself get caught up in the enjoyment of it – and lost way more than he could reconcile himself to. 

The second night, this night, he'd worked harder at his craft, worried that all the time away had let him lose his touch. Buck and Nathan had played along, giving him some safety to test his skills. He'd come out ahead, and at the point he'd planned to, so he'd felt better, more in control. 

Which had given him the peace of mind to turn his attention to other things. Other people. 

It wasn't as if he hadn't been surrounded by other people for far too long – damned wagon train. Families deciding to move out to the unknown, daring to believe that their sheer strength of will could defeat the elements, natives, hunger – and men like Dickie O'Shea. The fools. 

And add to it the complexities of the people themselves. JD worried about Casey and never seeing her again. Nathan worried about the people in the train, getting close – too close – to some of them. Josiah and the widow-woman – and hadn't that been a thing to watch? Not to mention that child of hers, the one who had made Ezra look the fool. However did Josiah manage to woo her so completely that she took actual disdain at the attempts that Buck and Ezra himself had made to win her affections and those of her oafish son?

Then, the bigger fiasco of Vin and the Richmond woman – he still couldn't tell what that had been about. Vin appeared to have taken complete leave of his senses, which was something that Ezra had thought the man had in abundant supply. 

But the worst had been having to watch that other situation. 

Other person. He'd almost lost control watching Mary throw herself at Chris. Repeatedly. 

No, he corrected himself as he stared out into the glistening caramel sand, the color shifting in hue in the bright moonlight, he'd almost lost control because he didn't know which way Chris would jump. 

The expression came to mind readily, and he smiled at himself, amused at the way Buck's turns of phrase had wormed their way into his vocabulary. His mother would be horrified. 

Thinking of Maude, though, brought him right back to the memory of Mary. How many times had he seen his mother throw herself at a man? The last time hadn't been that long ago, and right here in his own locale. 

But he knew that wasn't what had worried him most about this past trip. What had worried him most had been the object of Mary's attempts at conquest. 

Chris. 

His horse slowed as they neared the corral that signaled arrival at the Larabee homestead. The moon was almost full and so bright that he could make out the colors of the landscape. Not that there were many colors, not here so close to the desert. But Chris' land was fed by a small underground spring, and there was grass, albeit sparse, its color a pale green that was vaguely discernible. Easier to distinguish was the darker green of the leaves of the few trees around the cabin, the grey-ish brown of their bark. 

In the distance, he could see the horses that composed Chris' small herd. Chris' own gelding was dark, his black hide darker than this night, and his tail flicked back and forth in irritation as Ezra drew near. A sentry of a sort, his master's keeper. 

Ezra's horse whinnied a greeting and the big black responded in kind, but both of their voices were low, serene, as though they didn't want to wake the man in the cabin. 

If the man in the cabin were asleep. Ezra looked toward it, not surprised to see a low light coming from somewhere within. But there was no sound as of yet, no call of welcome or warning.

And so far, no gunshot across his proverbial bow. At one level, that was worrisome. 

He sat for a time, staring at the cabin and wondering if this were a wise idea. Not so much because he worried of getting killed – which he always did, this being Chris' home and Chris' temperament – but because of himself. 

He should leave, should have left, long before this. Long before this most recent excursion demonstrated the basic fallacy of his – what? Relationship?

The very word made him laugh aloud, though quietly. His horse shifted under him, tossing its head as if annoyed at his humor. More likely, annoyed at having to wait for its rest. The gelding was accustomed to coming here, spending time in the corral with the others, enjoying the cool night air and the fresh grass.

But as Ezra dismounted and led him to the corral gate, he mulled over the idea. 'Relationship'. Putting aside the fact that they were both men and that such a thing as a 'relationship' other than friendship for them was socially unacceptable, putting aside the fact that Chris had been married and had a family and still seemed to be predisposed to women, there was still the plain simple fact that Ezra himself had no intention of getting tangled up with anyone, male or female. Maude had made a point of teaching him that emotional complications were deadly. 

He hadn't taken those lessons to heart so much as he had the lessons she had taught him unintentionally. Which brought him right back to those images of Mary and Chris . . . 

He turned out his horse, stored his saddle in the place he usually did, grabbed up his saddle bag, and headed toward the cabin. The light still burned low, and the moon was still high. When he turned to latch the corral, the horses shone like velvet, their hides rich and dark, black, brown, even the roan discernible. 

But as he turned toward the cabin, he wondered why Chris hadn't called out. It wasn't like him to sleep through someone opening the corral gate, not even someone welcome. That only happened if he were drunk. And he was only drunk when he thought about his family. 

Ezra slowed as he neared the doorway. He didn't recall any mention of an anniversary, didn't recall any sign from two days ago that there was a pending crisis. Buck hadn't mentioned one last night, not even when he was in the throes of his own maudlin concerns. So why would Chris be drinking? 

The door creaked slightly as he pushed it gently open. He stood off to one side, letting it swing inward just in case Chris was awake and lying in wait. But no sound, either human voice or weapon, greeted him, so he peered cautiously into the opening. 

An oil lamp sat on the eating table in the center of the small cabin, casting light in a low but broad circle. The room was comfortably warm, holding just a little of the former heat of the day. 

Ezra slipped in quietly, unsure of what to expect. Everything appeared as normal; there was a cloth-covered lump on the table near the lamp, most likely the remains of the dinner Chris had eaten. A book lay near to it, open but face down to mark the spot where he'd stopped reading. Ezra frowned, thinking of the tearing of the binding, but no matter how many times he suggested to Chris that this was not a way to keep a book long in his possession, Chris ignored him. 

He looked slowly to the left, toward the area that held Chris' bed. The first thing that caught his eye was, as always, the window. It was wide and uncovered, giving a clear view of the outside, the hills past the boundary of Chris' land, the open sky. It was a beautiful view, and one that Ezra still found distracting, despite the number of times he'd seen it. 

Especially now. The sky was a royal blue, not quite black but not quite blue. Stars were scattered through it, glittering against the rich background. To one side, the moon was large and not quite round, the color of a lovely cream tea. The hills were distinct, too far away to see anything specifically, but there were splotches of pale green and light brown against the striations of sand, wide swaths of umber interspersed with smaller lines of amber and ochre. The view was so wide, so open, and so clear through this big piece of glass. 

It was expensive, Ezra had no doubt about that. Glass was an investment, and given Chris' lifestyle, it seemed a stupid investment. Just months before, the cabin had been shot through so many times that there were more holes in it than there was wood around them. 

But the rebuilding was what had prompted him to get this window. This cabin was larger, the furniture was getting better, though slowly; the chair with the uneven legs that now had multiple bullet holes through the back still sat next to the bed, the rough chest in which Chris kept his clothes still sat against one wall, the table on which the lamp sat was still the old, scuffed, knife slashed table he'd had when he'd moved in. 

Actually, now that Ezra thought about it, the only really new piece so far was the bed. 

The bed. A carved wooden headboard and footboard that matched. Nothing elaborate, that wasn't Chris' way, but the wood was a lovely oak, imported with the window glass, sanded smooth and then lacquered to a high gloss that in the right light, like now, appeared to be a warm yellow. The mattress was a real mattress, stuffed with cotton and feathers, softer and thicker than the flat, dusty atrocity Chris had had before. There were even real bedclothes on it, a woven blanket over actual white cotton sheets. 

But more than the new bed and its covers was what was in it. 

He was sleeping. Naked. Sprawled as only Chris Larabee could be, on his back, his arms spread wide and reaching toward the headboard, his long legs parted and apart, as if he'd fallen backwards from the foot of the bed onto it. Which he couldn't have, not with the footboard there, but it was the impression. Comfortable in his large bed, claiming as much of it as he could. His golden hair blazed around his head, the darker undertones of copper and bronze adding to the patina halo. Part of his face, neck, lower arms, wrists, and hands were darker, tawny from their exposure to the sun. It was a lovely contrast to the rest of him. As were the fine hairs that covered his chest and thighs. They gleamed auburn against the milky flesh, inviting to the touch. 

Ezra wasn't aware of moving, stepping closer to the bed, until Chris shifted, snorting loudly, and the image was broken. 

Ezra frowned. Though still distracted by the view, it occurred to him that this was wrong. Chris sleeping was a sight to behold, but Chris shouldn't be sleeping, not with someone in the cabin, someone this close to him. 

Then his other senses seemed to awaken and he recognized an all-too familiar scent: whiskey

Tearing his eyes away from Chris with effort, he searched the room, eventually catching the glint of glass on the floor, just under the bed. Leaning down, he retrieved the bottle. It was mostly empty, with just enough to slosh around but not spill out. The red label was one he knew – not a brand he would normally buy when he could afford otherwise, but the one that was most popular at the saloon. 

The wax on the neck was still tacky, a sign that it had been opened recently. Perhaps yesterday, he hoped. He hadn't come all this way for Chris to be too drunk to - 

The thought came back again. Why would Chris be drinking? Mary? But she had opted, damn her, to return to town, not to marry the pining Gerard (and whatever would Mother have said about that?). That made no sense. If Chris wanted Mary, then he should have been happy that she had not settled for Gerard. 

And Chris didn't usually drink to such excess alone, when he was happy. Only when he was unhappy. 

Was he unhappy that she had come back? Unhappy that he would still have to deal with her?

He felt a little trill of excitement at the idea, that Chris was that frustrated at her constant overtures, but even as the smile started to tug at Ezra's lips, he caught it. Any frustration Chris felt at Mary's continued persistence was not an indication that he preferred anyone else's company. Certainly not that he preferred Ezra's. 

So if it weren't Mary, then why was Chris drinking?

He stared at the amber liquid, which seemed to glow, absorbing the moonlight. There had been one other incident on the trip, the one with Vin and that woman. 

Vin had actually left them, run away with Charlotte Richmond, the wife of Will Richmond. Run away - and then come back. It had seemed that he and the woman would leave again, but in the end, Vin had come back with them and the woman had stayed with her husband. 

Vin had ridden ahead of them on the way back, but that wasn't uncommon. If Ezra had thought anything of it at all, he would have assumed that Vin was contemplating his emotions, perhaps even suffering from some post-relationship regret. Chris had been pre-occupied with Billy Travis for most of the ride back, so Ezra hadn't thought much of Vin's situation. 

But Vin had left. And as Ezra understood it, had he and the lovely Mrs. Richmond not encountered Dickie O'Shea's reinforcements, they would have been gone to Brazil or some such ridiculous place.

He swirled the liquor in the bottle, watching the way the color changed as it moved, from amber to rust and back. Chris was upset because Vin had left. 

The color of the liquid seemed to change as he thought through this conundrum. Vin had almost left them, for good. Certainly he hadn't told Ezra or Buck or any of the others – had he told Chris? There had been a point in the time between the rescue of Mrs. Richmond and Vin's leaving with her when Ezra had seen him storm away from Chris. The two of them had been standing alone, and while Ezra hadn't been able to tell what was said, he could tell that Vin was angry. After Vin stalked away, Chris had stood staring, his face impassive, but Ezra had seen the slump in his shoulders and the little shake of his head when he finally moved off. 

He had seen the way Chris' eyes had followed Vin, and though Chris was too far away for Ezra to know for certain, he could imagine now that there had been a look of sadness in them. 

Chris and Vin were close. They spent a lot of time together, shared many things as far as Ezra could tell. Was it possible that they were . . . 

The idea wasn't new, but he had never carried it to this level before. He'd been jealous of Vin for his emotional closeness to Chris, a closeness that he couldn't share or understand. He'd resented those moments when he'd watched them walk away together, heading off to work here, on Chris' place. 

He'd never let himself, until now, consider that there was something more to their friendship. He hadn't wanted to consider that what he had with Chris, spare as it was, could possibly be something that Chris had with Vin. 

But if he had, if Chris had more with Vin than he did with Ezra, perhaps the loss of Vin would drive him to react this way. The fear of losing Vin – of losing him again if he opted to leave again. 

The thought of it was like a black cloud. It enveloped him, wrapped around him and tightened. The russet liquid darkened, the light sucked out of it. The murk tightened around him, oozing into him, scalding as it slid down his throat, to settle like a great, burning anvil in his belly. Then tendrils of it wrapped around his throat, choking off his air, choking off his thought, his reasoning, the constant debate about what to do and why and the odds of success and - 

"You gonna drink that or stare at it all night?" The words were rough, grating, the tone sharp – not sharp enough to cut clean the black bonds, but enough to loosen them, enough to let light back into the glass bottle, the smokiness receding to return the warm glow to the whiskey. 

Ezra drew a breath, a slow, deep one, and looked down into incandescent verdant eyes. Passingly, he knew that Dickie O'Shea had been wrong; there were places other than the landscape where all the colors of green existed. Grass green, jade green, forest green, deep greens that reminded Ezra of the lush fields of cotton around humid Savannah, light greens that he saw daily in the dry heat near the desert. The hard green of a well-cut emerald, the soft green of a four-leaf clover. 

"Ezra?" The sound of his name didn't get his attention so much as the question in the tone. The hint of concern that attached itself to the last syllable, making it less like its usual 'hiss'. 

His tongue, master of itself, responded while his brain was still struggling through the myriad possible responses. "Celebrating our freedom from indenture with that damnable wagon train? Or perhaps Mr. Tanner's decision to stay with you?"

The kaleidoscope of green vanished as Chris blinked. It was a good thing; freed from his preoccupation with it, Ezra had a chance to get his tongue under control, before he could add more. A chance to get his emotions under control. 

What was wrong with him? He had come here for nothing more than physical satisfaction – because there was not now, and never had been, more on offer. Hadn't he known that when he got off his horse? What had happened since he'd walked into this house? What sort of magic did the moon hold, to make him forget himself so completely? 

He was all right, though, he could act as if he'd meant the question sincerely, as if he thought Chris were drinking for happiness. After all, it was possible, probable, even, that Chris was relieved Vin was staying and was celebrating it. Especially if they were – 

He drew a deep breath as the spectre of darkness rose again. 

The burn of alcohol on his lips made him aware that he had lifted the bottle and was drinking. The taste of it was brash enough to make him want to cough but he didn't, letting it scald all the way down to his stomach. 

It worked, in that it drove away the spectre, and also everything else that was on his mind. The alcohol hit his belly, swirled for a few seconds, roiled about, then slowly, slowly settled in a mist of cool grey. 

"Reckon that answered the question," Chris said dryly, his voice low. "One of 'em, anyway."

Ezra lowered the bottle, opening his eyes to look at it. It was empty, which explained some of the residual burn and the sudden quiescence. The reminder of his question about Vin made him wince, but it didn't invoke the cloud. 

He set the bottle upright on the bedside table then looked once more to Chris. The other man was propped up on his elbows, the position stretching his bare chest wide, the muscles clearly defined. It was distracting, the new angle casting him in a slight shadow so that he appeared as marble. 

This was, after all, what Ezra had come for. Nothing else, because there was nothing else. He pulled at the sleeves of his purple coat, drawing it off easily and tossing it over the closest chair. He was working on his hidden arm rig when Chris said, still quietly, "You might be right, might be I was celebrating the idea that Vin was staying. Is staying. But how often have you known me to look at the bright side of things?"

Ezra looked past him, out the window as he considered the truth of those words again. Perhaps it was the liquor or the reassurance of it, the idea that Chris' drinking wasn't from happiness but from pain – perverse, he knew, but reassuring – but the sky beyond had taken on a warm purple glow, the silver stars glimmering in the decadent satin sheen. 

Chris shifted on the bed, reclining back into the pillow and stretching his arms. He wasn't uncomfortable in his nudity, not here in his own home. Or in Ezra's rooms, for that matter. By Ezra's standards, he had no reason to be. He was an attractive man, too attractive, perhaps. Here, still touched by thin shadows, he could have been a model for Michelangelo or Brunelleschi. 

"Never expected him to leave me," Chris said bluntly, his voice still rough from disuse. "Reckon it caught me by surprise. You know how I hate to have someone run out on me."

There was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as Ezra looked into them. An acknowledgment of the one time Ezra had betrayed his leadership. Well, directly done so. 

But there was more than amusement in the gold-flecked eyes. There was something Ezra had seen as of late, a softness that brought out the deeper hues of green. Sometimes, he thought he knew what it was, but he couldn't, wouldn't put a name to it. 

He had come here for one thing. Not for this, he reminded himself, pushing aside the words that might name this softness. 

"Well, as you know, I have not run out on you again," he heard himself say. "In fact, I have run to you, tonight, to tempt you into wickedness. Or so I hope."

Chris reached up and caught the ruffled cuff of Ezra's sleeve. Another part of Chris, one prominently on display, started to stir as well. "Glad you did," he said, tugging gently. "Be better if you got out of all them fancy clothes." But even as he said it, he pulled harder, drawing Ezra down. 

As Ezra bent over the bed, Chris' free hand caught the back of his head, long fingers threading into Ezra's hair. He drew up once more, his lips touching Ezra's. The contact was fierce, possessive, Chris' tongue demanding entry and control. 

For a brief second, Ezra balked. But this was what he had come here for. And he did want it, oh so very much. 

And as the kiss deepened and lengthened, as Chris' fingers tugged at the buttons of Ezra's shirt and the buckle to his gun belt, Ezra tried to let the thoughts from earlier, the haunting idea of Chris and Vin, fade from his mind. 

When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily, Chris said, "Would have been a lot more drunk if it'd been you riding out on me."

Ezra grinned as he pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants. "I assure you, you are in no danger of me running off to Brazil or anywhere else with a woman, especially the wife of another man. That is mostly certainly outside of my comprehension."

"Don't think it was something Vin had planned," Chris said lightly. "Think it might have surprised him as much as it did me."

"Maybe you should tell him not to run out on you again," Ezra said distractedly, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, hurrying as much as he could. Talking about Vin was not making him more excited – though perhaps it was a good thing that it was tempering some of his current enthusiasm.

Chris laughed, the sound startling in the quiet of the night. Ezra flinched, dropping the boot he had just pulled off. He turned to stare at the other man, partly annoyed, partly irritated. 

Chris was smiling though, his teeth pearlescent. "He ain't like you, Ezra," he said, still chuckling. "If I wanted him to leave, all I'd have to do is tell him not to. He's contrary that way."

The blackness threatened again, edging into his vision as it rose up like a vapor from his belly, into his throat. "Oh is he?" he managed to grit out around the gathering miasma of anger. 

Chris ran the tips of his fingers down the hard bone in the center of Ezra's chest. The touch was cool and a little distracting, keeping the full force of his temper at bay. "No, he ain't like you," Chris said again. "And I don't want him to be. I like things the way they are – maybe like 'em too much this way." He traced back up Ezra's chest then reached to catch his chin, turning Ezra's face so that he could stare into his eyes. 

The blackness faded, giving way once more to those darker greens and flecks of bright yellow. "Too much," Chris murmured again. "Glad you came. Now get down here."

Ezra stood just long enough to drop his pants, then, with Chris tugging on him demandingly, hands teasing over Ezra's hips and thighs, Ezra dropped to the bed. His last rational awareness was relief. He knew he'd always be jealous of the friendship between Chris and Vin, unable to understand the nature of it, but for now, that jealousy was far away. Instead, he was lost in the colors of Chris under a bright, almost full moon, alabaster, emerald, gilt, against the rich aubergine sky.


End file.
